Cyrus the Flailboat (fringeward) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-08-14 21:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cyrus colle, esther glass |
Who: Esther & Cyrus
What: Things go well. Then they go horribly awry.
Where: Around town and even outside the city walls!
When: Throughout July and August, ending today
Rating: R-ish for some vaguely described intimacy
Status: Complete
She has her fingers tangled in the edge of his shirt, and Esther knows she is giving him one of her smiles that spells out T R O U B L E. At the edges of her home she mostly sticks to the shadows and crevices he knows are there, she can hide in-between those and pull Cyrus’ hand as they spend a sunny afternoon in each other’s company. There are no chances for her to stray far from home, kept back by the promise of wedding preparations that need looking over. Though she tries to pretend she is not, Esther is very obviously sneaking around —casting half glances behind her and peering every time they turned a corner. When they walk in the open she holds a small space between them that disappears when they are alone. She’s laughing and causing havoc with a little knowing smile and gleam in her eye (she’s playing and enjoying the end of this life, from girl to married lady). Esther would go back after all this is done and slip back into the skin of Lady Glass, holding her posture firm and head high while the seamstress fitted her gown. A rigid exoskeleton that constricted her breathing if she slumped even the slightest bit. “It is a nice day, isn’t it? Not too hot.” He can’t say he doesn’t notice her odd behavior. it is obvious she is concealing him, one way or another, and he should probably mind or find it worrisome, but he’s a simple man unaccustomed to the attentions of such a lovely and engaging companion, so he lets things slip that he perhaps oughtn’t, and plays along with her in this game, the rules of which he has not bothered to learn. So he enjoys her closeness when it is permitted and tries not to be ungrateful and impatient about the first and starts of her pace with him (sometimes, he seriously considers suggesting they find a nice inn and just close the blinds -- surely these things don’t have to be so complicated -- but he never quite gathers up the courage, afraid that all of this is ephemeral and may disappear at any moment). He lets her pull him close in the shadow of tall, fine buildings, moving easily at her whim, his hand resting on her waist as this seems a moment when closeness is allowed and encouraged. “A nice day for a walk,” he agrees. It would be nicer without the smells and noise of the city, but he hasn’t yet broached the topic of going into the outlands. He can’t imagine how someone can not love the outdoors, but he’s willing to forgive her almost anything. Esther smiles softly, lifts her head and kisses the corner of his mouth with iron grip control, each gesture precise (affectionate but not harbouring promises of further intimacy). "It is, would be nice to do so with more privacy." A constant topic brought up in conversation, Esther is less ashamed of her companion than a lady of her social circle ought to be; however she is keenly aware of the social norms she is pushing (or rather breaking, but she still hopes to find a way around them). "I haven't thanked you for your gift," the wooden carving that now rested on her bedside table, and she had taken to playing with before sleeping, tracing her fingertips along the edges and trying to find some out for the hole she had dug. "And I ought to." Here it is when she begins to unravel, playful in her touches and mouth along the column of his throat. “You really don’t have to -- uh.” Sometimes, Cyrus thinks, just not talking really is best. The carving is nothing special, really -- he’d thought of her as the lines of the coeurl kitten had emerged but really, it’s just a bit of wood and a few hours of time, hardly anything at all -- but… “I mean,” he says, “you can. If you want to.” He’d be an idiot to turn her down, after all. To her, however, it was a touching gesture(not glinting metal nor expensive stones) just simple but genuine, much like the one who had crafted it. Esther thinks of the curling edges as she touches his midsection, his words dismissed(distracting and unnecessary right now, windswept mutters). “I intend to.” She nips and rises on tip toes, with her mouth against his she forgets everything(never has she felt so grateful for that brief respite — there is only the pounding of their heartbeats, blood rushing to her ears) A river, a storm, a sea. “So,” he says, just enough alcohol in his system to make him brave, “I’d really like to change your mind. About the Outlands,” he quickly clarifies, just in case. It’s been a few weeks now, and he can’t deny the fact that the idea of taking her somewhere far from prying eyes, where they don’t have to hide in corners from unknown watchers, appeals. A carpet of grass seems far preferable to a stone wall, and yes, he’s being daring thinking this way but -- Her hand found his under the table some time ago, her fingers ghosting over his wrist, and it’s not like he can misread her meaning anymore, even if she is still teasing him in one way or another. He thinks of the spot he discovered on his most recent foray out for supplies, musters his courage. “I want to show you something,” he says. “If you’ll come with me, whenever you have a free day.” Hopefully before the Rangers send him out again. “We’ll be back by sundown.” “Yeah, alright.” She accepts because he was brave enough to ask, because she too was tired of looking over her shoulder every time they met(they knew, her father’s men had to know by now). The edge of her smile is a little tense, unsure on how much to reveal(too much happiness or quiet reserve, perhaps something else entirely). Esther thinks of Mathieu’s broad smile, the gleam in his eyes and how their moments are spent so differently. The reason for this line of thought eludes her; turning to other things is easier. “Is this your way of asking me on a date?” “I… guess so,” he says, sheepish, hopeful, more nervous than he should be (except she’s got a hold on him now, with her promising smiles and her teasing touches, and a no would have been a true disappointment, even if he’d already prepared himself to hear it before the agreement came). “I mean, I really do want to show you this… thing. Place?” He doesn’t want to give the game away, and he hopes to see her eyes widen in delight when they arrive. She’s agreed to go with him. That alone is enough to have him grinning. “Tuesday?” he offers. “Or any day, really. I’m at your disposal.” He’ll rearrange his schedule if necessary, for this (for her). The butterfly-like touches on his wrist pause for a moment, watching his smile(cataloguing, comparing) and Esther returns it by reflex — wide and brilliant. “Tuesday is fine, you can show me this thing-place.” She has a catering service on Tuesday to try wedding cakes, but Esther will move around her social engagements, for this (for him or the addiction of him). The need for this physical intimacy driving her further and further. She was raised better than this, but curiosity is an evil master that once tasted remains. Poisoning her common sense and Esther will promise him anything in this moment; though he does not know that and that is for the best. (The touches reassume, circular patterns traced). He’s taken care to find the smoothest path, easy to ride even for a novice, or so he hopes. It’s a bit longer than simply going cross-country, but they set out in the morning and it is only shortly after noon that they at last break through the trees of the path they have been following through the woods (navigating with ease though green and gold mottled light, he is at home here as he will never be among buildings and crowds). He has chosen just the right angle so that when the trees part, they are greeted with the waterfall and the small pool it drops into, the rush of water over stones and the song of some lone bird the only thing breaking the silence. There is a beaver dam further down the stream that meanders away from the pool and into the trees, and a willow tree dipping its long, bent branches into the water. He grins, turning in his saddle to look for her reaction. She may not like roads and chocobos and insects (though really, he thinks none of these things are so bad), but he hopes she can appreciate this, at least, and see the Outlands a bit more the way he sees them, a vast world of beauty and interest and often adventure (even if, for today, he hopes any and all adventures stay well away). “Oh!” Esther’s gloved hand rises to cover her mouth, Cyrus has succeeded in his mission to surprise her (she tugs the reins of her chocobo). “This is -” Well, saying it was beautiful was an obvious statement, so Esther refrained, instead she turned to look at Cyrus. Something lurked painfully inside her chest, the words escaped her — so she merely flashed him a smile. And when she stumbles off her mount (because Esther will never, ever be a graceful rider) she will forget that she doesn’t like bugs, the outdoors and smell of chocobo. “How do you find these places? Do you have a special radar?” He laughs. “I spend a lot of time in the woods. Animals make paths, too, to water, right? You don’t want to get stranded without a water source, so you find them and follow. If you follow them, sometimes you get a nice surprise.” And sometimes you stumble upon a pissed off giant lizard determined to defend the eggs in its cave, but it’s the sort of gamble he can get behind. He pulls the rolled blanket from where it is strapped to his chocobo’s saddle, shakes it out and sets it to rest on a shady patch of grass. “There’s food,” he says, going for his saddlebags. he’s as prepared as he can be -- he asked for advice the day prior, just in case, and has attempted to follow it to the letter. “It was a long ride.” Not really, but for her, it probably felt that way. And the view is pretty enough -- and the weather warm but not too hot -- that they can just relax here awhile before heading back. Esther is pleasantly surprised by the whole preparation, honestly not having expected anything from this date but perhaps a few awkward hours in the wilderness(ending up in tangled hair and clothes). Her sundress is a light shade of blue and for a while she lounges on the blanket by Cyrus, their fingers brushing as the birds on the trees continue their songs. It is nice. She traps him beneath her lithe body and kisses him until they are both quite out of breath. She is having fun, ignoring the common sense in the back of her mind telling her that she is living in a fantasy world right now(this isn’t real, she is getting married soon, to someone quite different). And when things seem to become too much, dangling on the edge of more or stopping — Esther pulls away suddenly. Her hands smooth the edges of her dress as she gets up and pads over to the waterfall, she had to think for a moment(something that could be a little bit difficult when Cyrus was kissing her). He can’t deny he’s disappointed. He can be patient and a gentleman, of course, but maybe his assumption that her hesitance comes from being always surrounded by watchful eyes is incorrect. He tries not to let the disappointment show on his face -- in this, he’s still willing to take whatever she is willing to give. So he sits up, tries to ignore his discomfort, runs his hand through his hair, and watches her as she walks away. “It may be a bit cold if you want to dip your feet in,” he warns, somewhat lamely (he is feeling a bit more than warm right now, and is willing to bet her situation isn’t entirely dissimilar). She turns to him and wiggles her fingers in his direction, encouraging him to come join her by the edge(there are, obviously, ulterior motives to this and perhaps she is trying to quietly convey affection she does not dare show physically). No one is watching them here, but Esther is trying not to break past a certain point. With mischievous childish impulses she shoves Cyrus into the clear pool of water, tumbling in after him by mere accident — she failed to calculate how much force was required to move a man of Cyrus bulk as opposed to Mathieu’s slender frame. The water is cold but pleasant, and late on when they head back they are still in damp clothes, fingers entwined as they ride side by side. Esther ought to have released his hand sooner, but they were well past the Palings when it occurred to her to let go. That was a problem. Neatly dressed in healer whites, Esther busied herself with attending to the fighters that had come in. However, she kept an eye out for the familiar sentinel(it was only much later that she found out he had been somewhere else healing — and once she did Esther set out to check up on him). She couldn’t just go this time, keenly aware of rumours that had been circling her, so she bid her time and then went to visit him at the barracks in Shieldwyrm Hall. The hour is growing rather late when she shows up, knocking on his door three times and glancing behind her giving away her agitation(she is worried about being here, about him, about someone seeing her and asking questions). The knock is confusing -- around here, people come and go at will -- but who is Cyrus to question? His is the only bed that is occupied of the sixteen that line the walls here, so he calls out, “Come in!” He could certainly open the door -- even considers it for a moment -- but the healer has warned him to engage in as little physical exertion as possible, and right now that means staying under the covers. He does not like convalescing, but he is an obedient patient. When the door opens, he thinks at first that it is the healer herself come to call, before he recognizes the face above the robes and feels a foolish smile spreading across his face. “Esther! I did not expect to see you.” Even now, he is thrilled when she takes the time to spend with him. Perhaps he ought to be accustomed to it by now, but it is always a surprise. He is so easily pleased when it comes to her -- just her arrival is enough to brighten a dull day. “You idiot man, of course I came — I heard you were injured. I had to come see how you were.” She sat by his side, a warm smile(impersonal for the most part, but curling with genuine concern at the edges — she cares). “I had to come see if I could do anything.” Not that he looked like he needed any assistance. She reaches out with her magic, brushing his body tentatively and checking the damage(everything in order — the healers had done a good job, had they not, Esther would’ve had Words with them after). “I am an idiot,” he agrees, sheepishly. Doesn’t he often tell himself the same? It’s no secret that he’s not the brightest man in the guild -- in comparison to the cerebral mages, he must seem a proper fool. “But I’m --” She is already scanning him, a look of concentration on her face that hints at magicks being used, though he can't feel them. “It wasn’t that bad,” he says, hoping to be comforting. “I’ve had worse.” "It's okay, I forgive you for being one and running into danger. Admittedly, it is brave of you, not many would." The spell snaps shut, scan finished and Esther places a soothing hand on his cheek(how fond she is of touching his jaw or his cheek, warm and solid beneath- it is comforting). "Thank you for protecting everyone." She kisses his brow and then casts the second spell, lips brushing his skin as she casts cura. If only to help relieve the pain for a little while. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly. He’d do it anyway -- it’s the sort of thing he’s good at, and if he doesn’t do it, who will? Others have other skills - like her, with her soft hands and soothing magic. People like her need people like him to keep them same (and people like him need people like her, he supposes, for a plethora of reasons of which the healing is only one). “But you’re always welcome. I’ll protect y --” he stops, reconsiders, continues, “everyone, anytime.” There is a brief silence from Esther, maybe a little horrified at the things she is doing(to Cyrus, to Wulfram) all because she is selfish. However, her ego will always trump, she wants what she wants and will have it; the consequences of it not important as having what she covets for the time being. So that wins out in the end as she holds his hand, thumb running over his wrists as she keeps him company in the late afternoon. And if anyone sees them? Well, such things happen in an open barrack shared by fifteen other people. He thinks (hopes) he knows that the invitation means, but he heads for the taproom upon arrival at the inn, anyway (his pockets are nearly empty from the car he paid to bring him here -- but he can afford a drink or two, and he is not late, which is most important). Once there, however, Esther is nowhere in sight -- and the bartender makes her way over to him with a knowing smile and says, “Your friend’s waiting upstairs. Room thirty five -- right at the first landing.” So that is how he finds himself,nervous and uncertain (he’s a grown man, for Faram’s sake, but --) at the door. he checks the number three times, prays that he did not misunderstand this invitation, and finally knocks. “Hello?” He had no misunderstood anything, Esther wonders if she will regret this later but she shifts over to open the door(now she feels mildly unsure of her actions, a half smile as she greets him with a little kiss). For a moment she considered having worn less clothes, but her dress is comfortable, and anyway maybe he had not understood her invitation. "Did you get lost this time?" She steps back to let him in and shuts the door firmly behind them, locking it for good measure. There would be no interruptions here. “I didn’t,” he says. It’s not defensive or proud -- if anything, it’s a bit embarrassed (she was bound to catch on to his poor sense of direction eventually) -- and he steps into the room, though before he can respond to the kiss with proper enthusiasm it is already over, and the door locked behind him. Mixed signals have never been his strong suit -- he tends to err always on the side of ‘no.’ But they’re at a point at least where he can put his hands on her waist and give her a tug closer, light enough that she can easily dance away if she’s unwilling. It’s been over a week since they’ve been able to command any sort of privacy, and he’s more than well enough to crave it. Esther winds closer to him, a little shudder of contentment at his touch(maybe she feels slightly annoyed that her body betrays her like this). Her hands slowly moving to untuck his shirt, fingers hesitating every so often but continuing their path. Familiar as his body has become, Esther still feels a slight awkwardness, a slight discomfort(because she knows what she is doing is wrong, but even knowing that won't stop her). "How are you feeling?" Polite conversation, not too distracting from what her hands were currently doing(which was now fiddling with his belt). Curiosity would be her undoing one day. “I’m feeling --” all sorts of wrong answers to this question (it is a minefield) -- “uh… very…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, though her hands are on his belt so no doubt she can work it out for herself. Finally, an answer comes in a sudden illuminating epiphany: “Very much like kissing you.” So he does, and her hands become less hesitant in what they are doing and -- It has been an inevitability for some time that eventually he will sweep her up off her feet as though she weighs nothing and find his way to the bed (in this, he is sure of his direction), and her hands will become more certain and his more adventurous, and they will, at last, wind up exactly where they have been heading. Esther is not so different in between sheets as she is in her daily activities: lively, selfish and eager. Not to mention curious; she plays and gets lost in the moment. Comparisons come unbidden; she misses the slender frame, and the lack of cologne. She tests different things, the way her fingers play with the short hair, the scars(Matheiu would not have any, Esther couldn't see it). Slender fingers tangled with her own, not these used to wielding heavy weapons. A shower is imperative after(nothing but her own peculiarities motivating it), she returns in her slip and towels her hair as she sits with her back to him, humming contently(and she is undeniably happy, a high she has not experienced in a long time). He cannot deny he felt a bit of disappointment when she rises from his side, but he’d stroked a hand along her skin (softer than anything he has touched; it is as though she is from another world entirely even from the few women he has known this way) and let her go, and in the time she’d spent in the attached bathroom he had tried not to wonder about just what she was thinking. Upon her return, still warm from the shower, clad in the flimsy bit of (very fine) cloth, and humming some song he does not know, he cannot help smiling as he sits up and watches her. She is so beautiful. And he is… as always, uncertain now of what to say. An inevitability or not, this sort of thing is not exactly common in his life. Less common still with a woman who has first spent her time with him, interested in his stories of truly stupid endeavors in the Valendian woodlands, willing to laugh at his jokes and forgive his stammering. He settles, finally, on, “What are you thinking about?” Because he will never guess on his own. Esther turns at his words, smiling brightly and reaching over to kiss him; allows herself these moments before the discomfort gets tangled in her throat and she pulls away. "That if I keep kissing you, I'm going to end up needing another shower." He is warm, it is so tempting to push him back down and- -Esther swallows, thick and heavy(guilt and want warring with her common sense). "Before that though, there is something you should hear. I know those rumours about you." He’d really rather that she keep right on kissing him -- another shower seems a minimal price to pay, but -- “Oh,” he says, hand rising to scratch at the hair at the back of his neck, “that.” His colleagues have been giving him hell for it, and he’s been laughing it off, but when she brings it up he cannot help but feel like he must explain himself. “I’m not -- I mean I’m only seeing --” this is just not coming out right at all. “I mean, I’m not the kind of guy who -- there wouldn’t be someone else. You’re the only one who -- well, I mean.” He shakes his head. “It’s not true,” he finally manages. “I wouldn’t do... that.” He’s an idiot, but he’s not a jerk. That moment she does genuinely feel awful, frankly she really ought to go with plan A: kiss him, forget the topic and pretend a little longer. However, now that she had brought this up, if he found out in future, he might be more upset with her. Esther hoped to still salvage the situation somewhat, if only because he made her feel a bit happier. "I know you wouldn't, but they are true." “But, it’s --” He stops. Thinks. Considers. Remembers how she hides in shadows, how she pulls him into corners. There is a cold, sick feeling in his stomach as the pieces fall into place. “Are you attempting…. to tell me that you are the... engaged noblewoman?” he asks at last, very carefully. Jumping to conclusions is reckless and unfair to her. Perhaps she means something else. She would have told him before… all this, surely! If she is engaged, it makes no sense for her to be running around with him of all people. She turns towards him- carefully moving to touch his shoulder, slid her palm along his back and keep him close. "Yes. I thought you knew." Not true at all but to be fair most people knew, it made sense that he would have after meeting her. Right? Probably not knowing how Cyrus was. His reaction, however, is almost immediate; his hand comes around her wrist and gently but very firmly moves her fingers from his arm. He is confused and distressed, but his jaw is set because he can worry about the rest later. There is only one thing to do, now. “No,” he says, his voice very steady. No stutter, and no warmth. He is not often angry, but he knows how to leash the negative emotion when it comes (somehow, he cannot fully blame her for the situation, so he doesn’t intend to take it out on her). “I didn’t know.” There are a lot of other things he could say right now -- and questions he wants to ask -- but they’re not coming past the lump in his throat. Perhaps it is for the best; he is liable to say all sorts of things he does not intend. He stands, aiming for his pants, which are flung across the back of a chair. With quick, efficient movements, he tugs them on. He doesn’t want to look for his shirt (he doesn’t want to be here any longer). He nods his head, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he says although he suspects that he is not the one who should have to apologize. “I should not have come here, and I’m going to go now.” The reaction is unexpected, emotion flashing across her eyes before being flunged behind a mask of mock-hurt(she knew she was wrong, no way around that). And she had never been a good actress like Mathieu, whose reflexes had become sharper ever since his promotion. "It's not like this with him." The hurt on her face makes him feel worse, if that's even possible, but he knows about simple decency, at least. He should not be entertaining such inappropriate thoughts about an engaged woman. And if she doesn't care about the promises she's made, he does. "If you'll excuse me, I..." He doesn't finish the sentence, which is probably best. He turns and starts walking, closing the for firmly behind him, because it's right. Even if it doesn't feel fair. She debates internally what to do for a long time; leaving it alone or not - but in the end Esther misses him(his simplicity and kindness, the comfort of never having to worry about double motives). So when she has time(and motivation) she actively goes seek him out - since he cannot ignore her forever(and she wanted him). Esther was not familiar with not getting her way, paying someone to tell her where he would be stationed and sneaking there to see him. Wrapped in a cloak to conceal herself, she didn't have much trouble finding him. It took her longer to approach him, taking a deep breath as she crossed the distance between to say hello with a weak smile. He is surprised to see her (he has been trying very hard not to think of her -- trying and failing), and his own smile is a least as weak as hers, tinged with awkwardness. “Hello Esth -- uh.” He stops, scratches the back of his head, reconsiders: “Lady… Glass.” Now that his ears are open he realizes he was living in a bubble before. His comrades are more than happy to fill him in on his noble lover. Former lover. He still naysays the people who insist on bringing it up, but now with a heavy heart. The rumors were true, but they’re not any longer. She can be just Lady Glass again, enticingly beautiful and firmly out of his reach. It was foolish to think anything of the dalliance. “I hope you’re well? You’re looking… well.” And Faram, but he doesn’t know how to talk to her anymore. it’s as though they’ve been transported back to the start of their acquaintance, when he couldn’t string together a sentence. It probably meant more to him than to her, playing as she had been with him from the start; exploiting his like towards her and getting carried away. Somewhere down the line though she had begun to care, maybe that was why she decided to do more than kiss. Not that it mattered now. "You may call me Esther, my friends do. At least, I hope we still are that." A cautiously hopeful look for a moment, seeking a way back in that gave her enough leeway to just touch him. If she could do that, Esther hoped it would be enough to get him to listen to her. “I --” A pause, as he considers (he still feels awful about everything), then says, “I mean, of course we’re… friends.” Because he’s not the sort to hold a grudge, and they just need to go back to how things were before they kissed in the back of that hovercab. Right, silence is bad. He watches her, just a little warily, as he asks, “Just… passing by? Guild business?” There really was no going back now though, Esther could not unlearn the things she knew of him now. The little details: what he was like beneath the awkwardness, how his lips felt against hers, how lightly his fingers curled around her waist. She seems to perk up a little at his words and tentatively reaches out to place her hand on his arm. "I came to see you." Unlike him, Esther was seldom at a loss for words- always charging in with the confidence of someone who had been brought up to get everything they desired. "Will you hear me out this time? Let me explain?" "I don't think you have to explain." He allows the hand on his arm for a few moments, then gently takes her wrist to remove it. "I don't know much about nobles and how things are done, but..." He's spent a long time thinking about this, so long that he can say it without sounding like a complete bumbling fool. "I don't like being lied to," he says. "Maybe you didn't mean to but..." even now he's willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, "but I don't want to be... that sort of person." It's the most delicate phrasing he can think of to explain that he is not the sort to willingly engage in what amounts to adultery. "Your... betrothed is a lucky man," he says, attempting to soften his earlier words. It's true, too; even after all if this he cannot help but be a bit envious. But in the end, someone like her isn't for him. Something deep inside her bristled angrily when he removes her hand, hating the feeling of rejection and dismissal from him. “That sort of person.” her tone is flat, no longer hiding behind games or quiet hopes that he might come around and see it from her side. It shakes lose an ugliness of character deep inside, like being cracked open, feeling truly exposed. “Well.” She lifts her chin, every inch the lady she was brought up to be, “If that is how you feel, there is no need to say anything else.” The raw feeling wouldn’t leave — unavoidable, Esther realized too late the repercussions of intimacy(and she was still young), most importantly she had made a mistake she never had intentions of repeating. Ever. And if there was nothing else to say, she had no reason to be standing there. A dismissive flick of her hand and she turned away, firm steps carrying her away from this mistake. It would haunt her and she wrestled the urge to turn back and explain. Esther paused in her steps when she was out of sight, she took a deep breath to collect herself and walked on. There was no use in dwelling on what had no solution. |